A Perfect Storm (4 page)

Intellect and propriety said to leave him to the privacy of his dream, but he looked as though he did such battle, as if it upset him so much, Sophie could not listen to the common sense that told her to walk away.

“Mr. Cabot.” Taking a breath, steeling herself for more arrogance, Sophie touched his tightly clenched fist. The man’s skin was on fire. “Mr. Cabot,” she said again, employing more urgency in her voice and in the squeeze she gave his hand. “Sir, wake up.” This time, she shook his shoulders, her adrenaline pumping even more when the sweltering temperature of his skin heated her palms through his thin sweater.

The man suddenly jerked, and he sucked in a great breath of air, as if he’d been held under water and had finally broken through to the surface. He opened his eyes, and Sophie watched a wildness living in his pinpoint stare, him seemingly still trapped somewhere between dreams and reality. In a blink, though, he shook his head, his pupils dilated, and he focused on her with that same laser precision he’d had when greeting her at his front door.

Oh my
. Sophie swallowed through the sudden dryness in her throat, and she rubbed the back of her neck to dissipate the dots of moisture now forming there. His focus shifted to his shoulder, to her fingers still digging into his flesh through the knit of his sweater and then came back up to her with a raised brow, something that with one arch conveyed mockery, impatience, and annoyance somehow all rolled into one.

Yanking her hand away automatically in a way that made her mad with herself—
why am I obeying that one lifted brow
?—Sophie shared, “You were having a nightmare.” Ticked more at herself for feeling like she had to explain, she added, “That was why I was touching you.”

Lucien barely glanced at her as he pushed out of his chair. “Unlikely.” He moved across his study to one of the tall windows, his focus trained on the storm churning outside. “Nightmares are for children.”

Sophie barely resisted rolling her eyes at such a ridiculous untruth. Her fingers still burned from the temperature of his skin; beyond that, his hands remained clenched into fists.

Waiting in silence until he looked back at her, Sophie glanced down at his hands with a pointed look. “Nevertheless…”

He didn’t speak, but she swore a silent string of foul words accompanied the light flashing in his odd eyes. Lucien shifted to face her fully, crossed his arms against his chest, and settled that unusual stare on her with an immediate steadiness that had Sophie suddenly battling not to fiddle and twitch.

Lucien lifted a dark brow. “Did you track me down for a reason, Miss Emerson, or did you merely get lost?”

“I-I…”
Dang it
. Sophie rubbed her fingers over one of the two lions’ heads adorning the front corners of Lucien’s enormous desk—figures that matched the ones on Ravenstoke’s front doors—and shivered at the bared teeth that held the round knockers in place. Clamping her jaw, Sophie clasped her hands in front of her and forced her head up high. “I thought I might explore Ravenstoke a bit before dinner.”

“And you came to seek my permission?” More of that not-quite-humorous lilt entered his eyes and tone. “Or did you intend to start in my study, and my presence derailed you?”

“If I’d wanted to begin here,” she shot back, “I could have left you sweating your way through you nightmare and looked around all I wanted without you ever being the wiser.”

For just a moment, darkness edged the topaz in Lucien’s eyes, and his jaw clenched. Just as fast, the tension eased, and he dipped his head. “I concede your point.” He then theatrically swept his arm in front of him. “Look to your heart’s content.”

Although given freedom, Sophie moved carefully around the perimeter of the room, mindful of the fine hairs on her body standing on end, somehow aware as heck of Lucien’s watchful gaze on her.

A small table with two chairs in front of one of the windows drew her interest. Rather, the intricate chess set done in light and dark shades of wood sitting on the table did. She picked up a pawn and lifted it in Lucien’s direction. “Do you play?”

More of that fascinating, layered fire flamed in Lucien’s stare. “Absolutely. Do you?”

With a nod, Sophie put the piece down in its proper position. “My brother taught me.”

A smile, something more predatory than friendly, lifted the edges of Lucien’s mouth. “Perhaps we’ll play a game sometime.”

As Sophie brushed her fingers over the queen’s elaborate headdress, she rubbed the back of her neck again. “Why do I get the feeling we already are?”

Lucien lifted that darn brow of his again. “What was that?”

Sophie whipped her hand away from the chess set, feeling as if she’d been caught stealing money. “Nothing.”
Shoot. No, don’t lie to him
. Clarifying—as best she felt she could right now, anyway—she added, “I was just thinking you would be a formidable opponent.”

Lucien shrugged, but nothing in his body language conveyed ease. “I play to win.”

Arrogant son of a—No
. Sophie bit her lip and swallowed down the curse, but she strode to him, put herself right in his space, and didn’t let the glint in his eyes make her stammer or run. “Just so you know”—she even leaned in, and his pupils flared.
Yes
!—“I do too.”

That smile hitched up with just a bit more arrogance. Lucien leaned in close, so much that she could see the fine striations of liquid gold in his eyes. His breath fanning her lips and cheek, he said, “You can try, but I haven’t been bested yet.”

Adrenaline shot through Sophie’s blood and kicked her heart rate into crazy-fast gear. Her stomach also flip-flopped in a way she hadn’t experienced in a long time. She held Lucien’s gaze and whispered back, “You’ve never played against me.”

Lucien flashed a truly dangerous smile. He then parted his lips, but as he did, a whir of commotion at the door caught their attention. Lucien jerked up straight, and Sophie spun.

Emma stood at the door. “Oh”—she grinned—“there you are, Sophie. I was just about to tell Lucien I’d misplaced you. Dinner is ready whenever you are.”

“We’ll be right there, Emma.” After Emma nodded and disappeared, Lucien put a hand on Sophie’s back and gestured to the door. “Miss Emerson?”

Never so aware of the small of her back, Sophie swallowed and beat back a tremble. “Mr. Cabot.” She nodded and quickly moved out of the study.

He followed right behind her, and she could feel him oh so close the entire way down to a small dining room. Unable to shake her reaction to his proximity, Sophie vowed to get her ducks in a row and find a way to throw him off balance as much as he did to her. One that wouldn’t backfire—such as what had happened when he’d put his mouth so very close to hers when he’d challenged her to best him at his favorite game—and leave her trembling and needy for more time in his presence.

* * * *

 “Do you miss believing in superheroes like you did when you were a kid?”

Sophie’s question hung in the air and did something to Lucien people rarely achieved with him: she’d left him speechless. Much as she had surprised the hell out of him—catching him unprepared, in the throes of a nightmare—she did the same again, this time with her simple question.

What in the hell had made her ask him that? As Lucien worked to gain his equilibrium, he studied the woman across the small table. She had indeed put on one of Emma’s skimpy black dresses, but she must have somehow knotted the straps together in the back, because the deep V did not reveal nearly as much on Sophie as it did when Emma wore it. Not that it mattered. The hoodie she’d thrown over the dress, zipped more than half the way up, covered much of her shape in the loose, large garment. When the ugliness in his nightmare had cleared earlier, Lucien had also noticed she’d chosen to wear her bright red galoshes in place of the sexier shoes Lucien had instructed Emma to leave for her. At the time, Lucien had bitten his lip to suppress a grin. She’d successfully thwarted his attempt to put her body on display, and he respected someone who could outwit him. Even when she didn’t know she was doing it.

Now, however, Lucien’s amusement had faded, and he barely swallowed down a growl.

Dinner and dessert finished, Sophie had gone from peppering him with questions about the house and the duke to a moment of silence, to…
this
. Her flawless blue stare waited for him, and its unwavering purity sent a tremble down his spine. Lucien took a fast swig of his beer.

“Well?” Sophie pressed. “Do you miss believing in superheroes?”

Lucien switched to drinking from his glass of water. “That’s a random question.” Jesus, his neck suddenly felt much too hot.

With her elbow on the table, Sophie put her chin in her hand. “Does that mean you’re not going to answer it?”

“I don’t know how to answer it,” Lucien admitted, stalling in silence for a moment after that honestly passed his lips. He had to take another sip of water to clear the dryness taking over his mouth before he could go on. “I suppose at some point in every adult’s life they wish for someone to sweep in and make everything better and good and right and safe. But the reality is life is messy and often ugly.” The constant invisible weight pressing on Lucien’s back forced him to sit up straight so it didn’t shove him to the floor.
Get your head in the game, man
. Calm settled inside him, and he locked in on Sophie just as hard as she did to him. “If you don’t know how to fix your own problems, then you’re going to get eaten alive by this world. That’s advice worth remembering.” He paused for a heartbeat. “Always.”

The slightest flinch knocked Sophie’s knuckles against the edge of her plate. She cleared her throat. “So maybe the better question is, what event in your life made you stop believing in heroes?” She recovered just as quickly as he had and settled her clasped hands on the table. “At what point did you know that if you didn’t want life to kick you repeatedly when you were down, you were going to have to learn how to defend yourself and fight back?”

Fuck
. The fine hairs along Lucien’s neck went up once more. He almost wished he’d started smoking again so he could light up right now. “That’s an incredibly personal question.”

“Yes, it is.” She kept that damn piercing stare on him, nearly enough to make him blink first. “Would you feel safer if I answer it first?”

Cocking his brow, Lucien leaned back in his chair. “I don’t feel threatened or unsafe right now, Miss Emerson,” he shared with lethal softness.

Sophie leaned in, eradicating the distance Lucien had put between them. “I think you do.” Her tone was equally soft. Deadly in its gentleness. “It’s all right, though. I’m not going to get up and stomp out of here if you tell me you’d rather not share.”

Lucien just stopped himself from biting off a curse.
Get her to trust you. It is key to your success.

“I stopped believing in heroes when my dad died.” Lucien slit open a vein for the greater cause. “I was twelve, and this person who was in great shape and was supposedly as healthy as a race horse dropped dead of a heart attack. That was probably when I started believing justice didn’t truly exist.” Lucien absently rubbed the sudden ache in his chest. “It’s possible I thought the sun rose and set on my father”—a huskiness he couldn’t cover coated his words—“and that, before he passed, I believed that good would always triumph over evil. When he died, I understood that wasn’t the case.”

Midnight swamped the sapphire in Sophie’s gaze. “Yeah. I get that.” Her lush, pretty mouth pulled down at the edges. “I thought I would stop believing in everything when both of my parents died. A carjacking took them from us when I was fourteen. But then my brother stepped in, and he somehow knew just the right things to say and do to make me feel safe again. In a lot of ways he—Royce—is more like an overprotective father than a big brother, even though technically we don’t share blood. My mother married his father when I was still very young, and his father later adopted me. Anyway, as much as I hate that Royce occasionally treats me like a kid”—she chuckled softly, and light chased the darkness from her eyes—“I love it more than I hate it and would feel lost if he stopped.”

Her loving tone and the open affection in her eyes as she spoke of her brother sent crushing loss and unbearable heat through Lucien with the power of a tsunami. He closed his eyes and clenched his teeth as cold and hot fought for supremacy inside him.
Focus
. Lucien fought to conjure the fading image of sandy-haired Josh.
You failed him twice already. You owe him this now.

Soft contact suddenly brushed against the back of Lucien’s hand, and he snapped his eyes open. Sophie covered his fingers with her small hand, and his skin burned everywhere her flesh came in contact with his.
Christ
. Lucien couldn’t remember the last time someone had touched him so innocently yet had such an immediate, raw effect on his libido. He withdrew his hand from hers—a little faster than he would have liked her to witness—before the sweet swelling in his balls became an erection he could not hide.

The softness in Sophie’s focus challenged Lucien’s ability to look back without squirming.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

Lucien cleared his throat. “I’m not used to talking about my father.” At least that was true. “If you’re done eating”—he stood, silently daring himself to keep his arousal suppressed enough not to give himself away—“would you like to take a look at some of the information I’ve collected about the duke and his companion, or would you rather wait until tomorrow?”

Sophie popped up from her chair like a jack-in-the-box. “Let’s do it now.”

Lucien couldn’t help it, she made him smile. “I’ll take you back to my study.” He crooked his finger. “Follow me.”

* * * *

As Emma had hinted to Sophie, Lucien had indeed successfully deflected almost all questions designed to get him to give pieces of himself away. Torn between frustration at his masterful skill and her fascination with the wonderful old journals and documents he’d set in front of her two hours ago, Sophie carefully closed the duke’s—William’s—first journal. In it, the man often mentioned his wife, Calliope, as well as her brother, Jude, with affection. If Sophie were to read between the lines, she might be able to stretch and say the man’s words about Jude felt as if they were laced with something deeper than affection and maybe had some longing in them. His feelings toward Calliope, though, were also warm and kind.